Introduction to "the tale of Eislyn"

Eislyn is an illustrated dark fantasy novel.

~ The Saint & The Seraph ~

What is Eislyn?

Eislyn is a dark fantasy story about a young woman set in a medieval, feudalistic world inhabited by fantastical races. Written in the style of poetic prose, it's greatly inspired by the imaginative works of Peter S. Beagle'sThe Last Unicorn, and Catherynne M. Valente'sIn The Night Garden.

Its main theme is the struggle of self-identity, and how a good person can become the villain of their own story.

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Plot Summary

In a fantasy driven world, Eislyn is an orphan adopted into a high elven family in the capital city of Belekai. She is tormented by the unexpected appearance of her manipulative and biological father, Nyrium, who seeks to use her to further his plans in disrupting the city's functioning hierarchy of power.

Eislyn must find the ability to overcome the power Nyrium has over her and stop his plans from becoming a reality. To do this, she needs to discover who she truly is: is she the hero who stops Nyrium from committing an egregious, irreparable act, or is she the villain who wants nothing but the acceptance of her father by carrying out his malicious orders?

Consumed by her inner conflicts, Eislyn struggles to make the heroic decisions that would result in betraying Nyrium and inflicting his wrath upon her.

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Writing SnippetsA sample of excerpts from Eislyn.

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Gently, he curled firm hands around her trembling figure. Her heart fluttered in the semblance of a dozen frightened birds, and however tightly he held, it failed to ease the aching desire she had to collapse at the closeness — and the reality — of him.

“My little seraph,” he crooned. “How tremulous you are.”

“It’s you,” she managed, her voice soft in sound and dying at her lips like melted snow.

“It’s me,” he answered, pressing long fingers into her face and along the delicate coils of dark hair. The bow of his lips dipped to tease along her temple, and paused there to whisper into the tipped ear that mirrored his own.

His words, though his breath was hot, chilled her until she shivered in the cage of his arms.

“Your father."

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Then she saw her there, sitting at the window with her hair let down like heavy, dark sorrow, her pale skin like blue milk in the moonlight, and she was clutching something tightly in her hands so that her knuckles were bone white with tension.

“Little Eislyn,” she said, but the girl at the window made no acknowledgment towards her.

“Eislyn.” Soirsha crossed the rich, carpeted floor that was as blue and dark as the sky, for there were no lit candles or fyreflies in glass habitats to light her path.

As she drew close enough to reach out a hand and stroke Eislyn’s loose hair, the black eyes of her daughter turned and banished her. “Don’t!”

Startled, Soirsha flicked her hand away like a scolded animal, tested it awkwardly in the air by her clavicles, then dropped it to rest unemployed at her hip. The silence dragged between them, thick and suffocating until at last Eislyn broke her gaze and returned it to the window.

“Monarch Soirzen was my father!” Soirsha’s voice hit a high, screeching note that broke at its pinnacle, and disappeared again into a curdled respite. “How dare you speak of Nyrium as if he’s so familiar. Monarch Soirzen, inexorable in his ways, has been there for you, watched you grow, protected you, perhaps even loved you. He gave you a gift: a chance at a decent life under my guardianship.”

Soirsha strode hastily across the room and grabbed three feathers that were neatly laid on a velvet pillow beside the bed. Eislyn took in a breath and held it, her body trembling at the anger and ferocity in her mother; it was an outrage she had never seen before. “These arenot gifts,” Soirsha hissed, crumpling the feathers in her hands and discarding them on the floor.

She crossed the short distance between the bed and Eislyn. She pulled at the red flower that dotted her temple, an action she had performed numerous times over the past year. Eislyn’s sobs grew, pulling from the very depths of her fear and shattered ability to cope.

Soirsha shook the flower in Eislyn’s face, its petals flapping like an injured bird. “This is not a promise of love! This should not have won your loyalty. Again, they are not gifts.” As she spoke next, the petals were ripped, one by one, to punctuate each of her words. “These. Are. Threats. He. Is. Using. You.”

About

My blog will be primarily focused on sharing updates, artwork, and writing excerpts of my fully illustrated novel entitled The tale of Eislyn.

Eislyn is set to be the first installment of a series of stories that take place in the same world.

All artwork & writing is entirely my own original content.

To see behind-the-scenes of my writing process, world-building, and art tutorials, you can find me on Patreon!